the Gun in his Holster
by wtvoc
Summary: “When you’re really, truly ready to know why I don’t like to discuss sex with you… you just let me know.” Well, Agent Booth- I might be ready. Sequel to "the Nudge from the Actuary". Booth/Brennan, M because I just wouldn't have it any other way.


**So, like- I decided to write a sequel to "the Nudge from the Actuary". This was another prompt from the livejournal community "The Kink in the Bones", a most excellent challenge from the amazing SSJL. I adore thee, darling.**

**For all the Twilight people considering a temporary flounce to a great fandom. And my jandco, even though she won't flounce with me.**

**Gracias to tkmoonnumbers. You are an amazing human being.**

"**The Gun in his Holster"**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The burden of thinking can be quite exhausting.

And Dr. Temperance Brennan was tired. Tired of being so damned analytical all the time.

"_When you're really, truly ready to know why I don't like to discuss sex with you, you just let me know."_

What did he mean?

She knew what he _meant_.

But- and this was a big but- was he telling her he was ready to "take it to the next level"? She was sure she'd heard that phrase somewhere, but she was probably getting it wrong.

Brennan wasn't completely oblivious. How often had everyone around her insinuated that she and Booth were more than "just" partners?

Often enough for her to immediately scoff at the idea, but not often enough for her to actually entertain the thought.

Until now.

It was that damned dinner, that damned confusing, erotic, not-at-all awkward… _touching_.

Brennan was so good at compartmentalizing that she had actually swept the whole evening under the rug. Not, you know, actually swept it. Metaphorically speaking. She had put it somewhere in bones limbo- another interaction to process when she had the urge, time, and inclination.

Which happened precisely three days later in the shower as she sought to relieve herself of some vaginal discomfort via masturbation. She often turned to visions of Booth in these moments; had, in fact, for years. She had even managed to stop rationalizing it in her mind before the act, positing that he was attractive and was therefore acceptable as the center of her rather imaginative fantasy life. Besides- it made her a better writer.

So, she settled into a familiar stance under the hot water, her mind wandering to an oft-replayed image of Booth throwing knives when it hit her- the brick wall. His low, raspy voice, intimate and insistent in her aural canal. The feel of his fingers strumming an imagined tune along her fevered flesh.

She hadn't orgasmed that hard while alone, ever.

And it set about a week's worth of discomfort. Both sexually and professionally.

She found herself watching him, observing his movements. How he was so comfortable in any scenario. His easy-going manner, his charm. How he would smile at her, a small Booth-y smile, especially when she made hesitant guesses based on emotion rather than observable scientific fact.

Once she had felt her week-long study of Booth's body was sufficient, her mind went on a tangent to her most irrational line of thinking to date-

-that of indignant anger.

How _dare_ he.

She had been fine with the line he had kept drawn for years. Why had he crossed the line?

She had merely been taunting his rigidly-set, Catholic-ingrained, repression-induced virtue, as always.

And then he had to go and _challenge_ her like that.

Well, two could play that game, Mr. FBI-know-more-about-relationships-than-you.

So, Temperance Brennan did what she does. She got an idea and she set about formulating a theory.

To wit:

Booth took her out and made her uncomfortable. He had touched her, intimately.

Result:

She had enjoyed it. And then been confused by it.

Response:

Return the favor. Alleviate her confusion.

Formulation of hypothesis:

In order to confuse Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan could play to her strengths and make him uncomfortable.

Booth is most comfortable as an FBI agent.

Challenging him in his comfort zone will throw him off-kilter.

Materials needed:

Tight-fitting, professional-looking skirt suit.

Those sharp-heeled shoes Angela is always insisting she wear.

Outcome:

Sexually frustrated Booth.

Having an experiment to perform made her feel instantly better.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Bren?"

"Just a minute." Brennan finished smearing some gloss on her lips. She slipped the awful heels onto her feet and stood from her desk, smoothing out the skirt she had chosen for her experiment. Not that there were wrinkles to smooth. The material was a pleasing mixture of softness and texture- the salesperson had called it a "jersey blend", and she had decided to buy several more for future endeavors. Brennan was confident Booth would enjoy the slinky material, and she dabbed at her lips unnecessarily in anticipation of the event.

"Whoa there, lady. You look- feisty." Angela shifted her weight, popping out her hip while hugging the files she had to her chest. "Like- I've seen this look before. Do you have a man to go sex up?"

"No, Ange. I have to go meet with Booth in his office." She couldn't help the defensive tone in her voice. She wasn't going for sex. _She wasn't_.

"Right. Go easy on the poor man…" Angela's voice trailed as Brennan walked with purpose out of her office.

As she made her way to the parking garage, she became aware of some stares from the male staff of the Jeffersonian. A few elbowed each other. Brennan usually ignored the ogling, chalking it up to the lack of pleasing female forms outside of her department. It was no secret that many males (and a few females, if Booth was around) found reasons to visit the Medico-Legal lab, and Brennan was usually amused at the predictable behavior.

But not today. She "owned that shit," as Ange would say, allowing the natural sway of her hips to be dictated by the tall heels she wore. She was almost positive a security guard choked on his coffee as she passed, and she smiled at the minor triumph.

Booth wouldn't stand a chance.

Brennan hummed with happiness as she parked into a visitor's spot at the J. Edgar Hoover garage. She noted that the overly large and environmentally deficient FBI-issue Boothmobile was parked in its usual front spot, relieved that he was there. She hadn't verified his presence at the office, relying on the element of surprise.

As she flashed her badge at the security desk, she noted with amusement that the guard stopped to frisk her. Typical males, resorting to minor displays of power in an attempt to assert dominance over a female of rank. She appraised him haughtily. _Yeah, I look good. Feel good, too_.

The elevator dinged and her heart rate elevated. She slipped on a new set of glasses; not those vintage old-lady ones, but square, thick frames nonetheless. The best she could find. After careful recall, Brennan realized had that this was one of the few fantasies of Booth's that she had any recollection of, and she would most definitely be using that to her advantage. She had even swept her hair up in a simple bun, easily removed. As she stepped off the elevator she took a breath, focusing on affecting what she hoped was a feminine walk.

A low catcall trailed behind her and she ignored it, seeking her partner. A quick scan revealed his office door open, blinds mercifully shut. Good. One less task to perform.

She headed to the lounge, relieved when she heard the unmistakable and low bass of Booth's boisterous male bravado. He appeared to be in the middle of some football-related joke. Agents Smith and She-Never-Remembered were laughing, but they stopped the minute she entered and leaned on the doorway, waiting.

"Hey, this is comedic gold, boys," Booth was saying. "What-" He turned and lost whatever it was he was going to say.

"Bones," he nearly choked out, recovering quickly from the near-manic expression he had first had at seeing her. And then slowly and quite purposefully, he eyed her from head to toe and back to her chest level. "What, uh- what can I do for you?" _What indeed, Booth_.

She paused and raised an eyebrow. "A matter of urgency has come to my attention, Agent Booth. Might I have a word?" He licked his lips and grinned.

"Yeah, of course. Excuse me, gentlemen." He walked toward her, head to the side, and she observed that he was wearing the three-piece suit that she liked. Damn it. Already, he was making things difficult. How could one man be so infuriating- and, well- attractive?

She heard the agents whispering, catching the words "smokin'" and "friggin' idiot" as she sauntered after him. He led her to his office and closed the door behind them.

_Now, the game is afloat_.

She walked to the window and leaned on it, pressing the palmar surface of both hands onto the large sill, using it as support. She was well-aware that while she appeared to be looking out the window and contemplating, she was actually using one of her assets- her well-defined posterior and hips- flaunting what she knew objectively to be her nice and curvy female body. She waited, growing slowly impatient that Booth hadn't said anything yet.

Just as she was making up her mind to turn around and try a new tactic, a gruff "ahem" filled the room behind her. She smiled briefly, wanting to appear serious.

"You, uh. Is it- I mean-" She was really enjoying his obvious discomfort, so she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, making him pause again. Brennan rather hoped he was "checking her out", but she was uncertain since she hadn't turned around yet.

"What was it you needed?" His voice and breath were suddenly right behind her and she congratulated herself on not appearing startled. Instead, she turned around, facing him and noting that he was approximately five centimeters away. He had that quiet, intense look about him, and her nerves began firing erratically as she realized his proximity was quite similar to that night at the restaurant.

"Well, Booth," she began, moistening her lips and speaking in a clear, low voice, "I've been thinking about what you said."

"Really," he responded, his voice down an octave. He was staring at her mouth, and her lip curled in response.

"Mm hmm." She reached behind her head and yanked on the elastic, tossing it behind her and shaking her hair down around her shoulders. He looked momentarily stunned but seemed to recover in time.

"And what did I say?"

"You told me to let you know when I was ready." She leaned back on the windowsill, breasts jutting forward.

"Ready." He appeared to be having trouble concentrating. _Good_.

"Yes. Ready. _Sex_." She hissed the last word. That seemed to bring him to.

"What? Now? Here?"

"No," she laughed, pleased that she managed to sound seductive, even to her own ears. "To discuss it."

"Oh. Right." He now appeared quite uncomfortable, tugging at the knot of his tie and clearing his throat. "Uh, what about it?"

"Well," she began, leaning up to tug on his tie, "that's just it. I wondered what _you_ meant." She let the tie slip through her fingers but didn't move her hands. He looked down at her lingering fingertips, so she smoothed away an imaginary crease and felt the expansion of his intercostal muscles as he took a deep breath. _So_ very uncomfortable.

"I, um," he began, but he was distracted because Brennan was wiggling one of the buttons on his vest.

"You know, I like it when you wear this," she said in a low voice, popping the middle button out of its hole. "It would look very rakish if you had a pocket watch right-" She put her finger through the buttonhole, "-here." She wiggled her finger, brushing his shirt underneath. She could feel his abdominals flexing in response.

"Yeah?" he whispered, his breath moving her hair, tickling her scalp. She looked up into his face and held her own breath at what was there. Intensity; dark and… delicious.

"Yes." He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and leaned closer, their faces nearly touching.

"This is why you came all the way down here? To discuss pocket watches?" Oh, he was going to challenge her back?

She stood up so that their chests were touching, breathing together. He smirked, that infuriating grin that indicated he either knew what she was thinking or knew something that she didn't.

But she wasn't prepared for a shift in power just yet. Her hands swept in a bilateral direction and brushed the straps of his gun holster. Before thinking twice, her fingers curved around the smooth leather. Emboldened at having something to grasp, she pulled and he lurched, off-balance and bumping into her. She felt the unmistakable hard heat of an erection against her pelvis, and a predatory grin lit up her face.

_Jackpot_.

"Bones-" he half-growled, half-moaned, his voice both a warning and an invitation. "This is- we're in my office, for cryin' out-"

She laughed and whispered right against his lips, taking a moment to appreciate that the ridiculous heels she sported lessened their height disparity before continuing. "I _could_ just go back to the lab and process some more remains, if I'm making you uncomfortable."

"No! I, uh-" But he was at a loss. He was pressing into her, taking a step forward so that their bodies were fully flushed with each other. Tilting his head further, he brushed his bottom lip across hers, lightly nipping at the top. The electric feeling; the fiery sensation burned a synaptic pathway down her spine and directly forming a tingling response between her legs. Grinning again, Brennan yanked on the still-held holster straps, forcing a breath from his lungs. Quickly pivoting around his surprised form, she swiveled the leather, effectively slamming him up against the windowsill.

"Wow." He grasped her shoulders- whether to steady himself and take a moment or out of some attempt to regain control, she didn't know, but she decided to act rather than reflect on it. She pressed herself against him, running a hand from his lateral thorax and down his side, feeling his muscles tense as she continued; down to his waistband, tracing his belt- feeling her way to the Cocky buckle. She gave it a tug and earned a gasp as she simultaneously leaned up and blew an open-mouthed stream of warm breath just under his ear.

She brushed her nose along his lobe and then took it between her teeth, oh-so-gently. Just as he was starting to react by bringing his hands around to hold her, she bit down and then moved her hand toward his erection.

His arms tensed. "Bones," he groaned. "what're you-" But she silenced him by moving her arm, her hand flat, wrist pushing up and down, up and down. His head dropped to her shoulder, hot breath seeping through the thin material of her shirt and suffusing her clavicle with warmth. A delicious image of his mouth on her bare skin entered her mind and she realized she was really enjoying this, enjoying him.

"What if someone-"

"Shh." She turned quickly, feeling his confusion as she pressed into him, gasping as he thrust his pelvis into her ass.

"Oh." It was a slip. A minor one, the consequences of which she didn't want to regret. But that small moan- that tiny little sound- empowered him. He put his hands on her shoulders again, pressing himself into her.

"This-" He thrust, hard. "-is how you wanted to talk to me-" _Do not let him stop_. "-about sex?" She hissed in, the air feeling cool on her hot, moist tongue. His hands ran down from her shoulders and to her breasts, feeling their weight and squeezing roughly as he thrust once again.

"This-" Squeeze; thrust. "-was your plan?" He let go of her breasts and slid farther down, grasping her hips. Dammit, she liked him like this. But she wanted the dominance. She pressed herself back, clenching her legs and glutes together. They both let out close-mouthed moans, her eyes squeezing along with her detrusor muscle. A vague Angela reference to Kegels passed through her mind, but she focused on the hot, fiery heat being generated between their bodies instead.

His fingers were clenching, then relaxing, flexing with each thrust of her backside. She brought her hands behind her, grabbing at his jerking hips, frenzied for a release but wanting him to lose it, to lose control first. Like he had done to her. More thrusting, increasing in rhythm, frantically trying to keep up with the jerking of his pelvis. His chest bumping her back, his breaths becoming more auditory as he- he-

With a sharp breath and a bruising grasp of her flesh, Booth came undone. For one short, infinitesimal moment, she could feel it, could feel his orgasm shudder behind her, through her, around her. He continued holding onto her for a few seconds more, his breathing slowing in pace, head dropping to her shoulder. She gave an uneasy smile that he didn't see- surely, this was her plan- but she hadn't counted on being left so- _unsatisfied_. _Fuck_.

His grasp was relaxing so she stepped forward, missing the weight of his head on her shoulder. At a loss for what to say or do, she gingerly turned to find him standing there, both hands on his waist and staring down at his pelvic region.

"At least you didn't mess up my pants," he said, his sardonic tone not reflecting the- confusion? regret?- on his face. "I suppose I'll have to go commando for the rest of the day." A fake, easy-going smile eased onto his face and he looked at her intently.

"Experiment over, Dr. Brennan?" _Oh, damn him. No. Experiment most definitely _not_ over._

"Commando?" she returned, still unsure what the proper response should be. _That_ reference she understood. But she feigned ignorance as she often did, for lack of a better thing to say.

"Yeah, you know," he said lightly, also seeming like he was at a loss for the proper thing to say. "Without underpants."

"Ah," she responded, crossing her arms and affecting her haughty tone. "Maybe I'll try that myself, next time." She turned, fully satisfied to see his mandible drop before she sailed out of his office.

XXXXXXXXX

**So, "Kink in the Bones" is a livejournal community that… well… the banner for it ain't safe for work/significant others. You have been warned. Link on m'profile.**

**Aaaaand I've decided to make this a series, depending on how good the prompts in the KitB LJ are. :D :D :D**


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